Wonderland Dreams
by Charis77
Summary: Unexpected weather in Camelot leads to heartfelt dreams. Inspired by the song "Winter Wonderland." Set between series 3 and series 4.


**Author's Note:** A winter treat at this festive season to add to the Merlin fandom. Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all my readers!

* * *

"Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Do it."

Gwen did as Arthur asked, then raised her shoulders when something thick and soft graced her neck.

"Look."

Gwen opened her eyes and glanced down. "Arthur! It's beautiful." A burgundy scarf lay about her shoulders. Arthur moved in front of her, wrapping it around her neck and staring into her eyes. "Why?"

"Why not?"

Gwen ducked her head and eyed him suspiciously.

"We had a surprise last night and I wanted to share it with you." He gently clasped her hand, guiding her out an unused side door he'd unlocked earlier.

Gwen gasped at the thick and rare blanket that had fluttered down from the heavens without her knowledge. She hadn't even glanced out a window overnight, too focused on caring for the king who still awoke at intervals, fearful and anxious. Her presence had a calming effect on the man driven insensible after his shock at Morgana's betrayal and the takeover of his kingdom. Why, she couldn't guess, but for Arthur's sake, she tended his father despite his past transgressions. "Snow!"

Arthur pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. "You've been so good to my father. You deserve a break."

Gwen met the blue eyes exuding love and laid a hand on his arm. "You as well." He worked day and night to keep the kingdom safe and running smoothly, thrust into kingship in all but official declaration so abruptly.

Arthur directed her to a couple saddled horses. The ride was short, but distant enough wanderers wouldn't disturb them. Arthur reined in his horse and dismounted, then aided Gwen's descent. He wound their reins to a tree, then took her hand once more, leading her past snow laden branches that showered lacy flakes in their hair. A bird twittered above, as stirred as they by the thrill of the moment. Arthur halted and peered at Gwen stepping up next to him.

Gwen gaped in awe at babbling waters frozen in timeless beauty. Arthur smiled at her wonder, and she caught him in her peripheral vision, turning to let her grin fall lopsided. "I haven't seen this much snow since I was a child."

"I remember."

"You remember me as a child?" her tone teased.

"No," Arthur laughed. "But what a delight if I did."

Gwen flushed.

"I remember the snow sinking to the top of my boots."

"Elyan and Leon built a snowman."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. He often found it strange to think Gwen and the knights had known each other when so young.

"They pretended he was an enemy of Camelot and thoroughly trounced him." Gwen grinned at the memory.

"Let's build one."

"A snowman?"

"Why not? I never have."

"Isn't that too low an activity for a royal?" Gwen taunted.

Arthur poked her ribs and she giggled. "Not if I say it isn't." He reached down into the snow and began to shove it into a pile.

Gwen joined in with gusto. The frigid cold bit their cheeks and noses, but neither noticed, so intent on their task and the one who shared it. When Arthur declared it ready for decoration they found twigs and rocks, affixing them to their raggedy man. When they finished, they stood back to observe their creation. Gwen began to chuckle.

"What?" Arthur asked.

"It's not very good looking is it?"

Arthur tilted his head. "Well...really...it is _snow_ after all."

"It's so broad and...round. Reminds me of Geoffrey a bit."

"Maybe a little."

"Look there, the way its eyes glower as if we're stealing books."

Arthur guffawed. That was Geoffrey all right. Still, the keeper of records had his uses. "What if it were him?" Arthur grasped her hand. "What if he said the words?"

"To make you king?"

Arthur turned her so she faced him, standing before the lumpy snowman. "To make you my wife."

Gwen lowered her gaze. "Arthur..."

"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen of Camelot," Arthur went on, his voice lowering so comically in a rendition of Geoffrey that Gwen looked back up all smiles. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the ancient rite of hand-fasting, the union of Arthur Pendragon and Guinevere the maid. Is it your wish, Arthur, to become one with this woman?"

Gwen's breath caught in her throat as Arthur leaned down and at the same time raised her hand, pressing his lips to its back, then looked up into her eyes. "It is...And you, Guinevere of Tom the Blacksmith?"

Gwen's chest rose and fell rapidly. "Arthur," she whispered. "I can't accept. Not now."

"It's only a dream, Gwen. Just a dream."

Gwen rose on her toes to clasp him around the neck. "You know how I feel."

Arthur slid his arms around her waist, savoring her touch for a moment. He blinked away sudden moisture and pulled back with a smile. "Come." He took her hand once more and led her a ways to an already flaming fire. Pushing aside the branches of a bush, he retrieved a basket. He opened it, withdrawing a thick blanket, then spread it next to the fire over a patch of grass cleared of snow. "We don't have to fear my father or Morgana this time."

Gwen knelt down as Arthur laid out the meal. She glanced around when Arthur handed her a capped bottle of warm cider. "Where's Merlin?"

"Why would he be here?" Arthur asked, concentrating on setting up the meal.

"This is warm," Gwen explained. "It must have been delivered recently."

"He's not here. I gave him the day off." Arthur avoided meeting her gaze.

Gwen cocked her head. "Was this his idea?"

"No!" Arthur exclaimed, now facing her. He fumbled. "It _was_ my idea, but Merlin may have helped a little."

Gwen grinned and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Thank you." She sat back. "And thank Merlin."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"He deserves a woman in his life," Gwen commented.

Arthur laughed shortly. "He wouldn't know what to do with one."

"I think he'd make a woman very happy," Gwen countered. "He's gentle and kind. Hardworking."

Arthur snorted.

"He _is_. He manages to do everything you make him do most of the time. He's giving, sweet, funny..."

"Stop," Arthur groaned. "You're making me jealous of _Mer_ lin."

Gwen laughed. "You don't have to be." She shuffled closer to Arthur, laying her head against his shoulder. " _You_ have my heart, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur drew her into his chest. Her heart was all he really wanted. Here, now, he required nothing else to be satisfied for the rest of his life.

* * *

Merlin cupped his hands to his face, conjuring flames that warmed his icy cheeks and nose. He wondered how long his warming spell would work on Arthur's picnic basket. Maybe he could find a way to surreptitiously ask. Arthur would think he'd just been lazy and delivered it late. He might even complain he had cut it too close, but Merlin had wanted to take advantage of the day off Arthur had given him. He'd had a journey to make.

Merlin lowered his hands, sending out his sight, directing it over the surface of water gone still in the surprise frost. Seeing nothing of note, his vision zipped to the island, circling it then dodging through the abandoned tower. Empty. This time he'd hoped maybe, just maybe, he'd catch a glimpse of the ethereal spirit that haunted his heart. Saddened, his eyes ceased their golden gleam, and the last time he'd seen her came to mind, her precious visage in an enchanted puddle. How he'd wanted to touch her! Clutch her soft cheeks, embrace her every curve, let her lips lilt against his and grow into something more fierce.

As Merlin closed his eyes, a lone tear escaped. He brushed it away. "Freya?" he whispered almost inaudibly, afraid speaking aloud would curse the unexpected frozen beauty surrounding him. The snowy landscape remained cushioned and silent, not even a bird's call interrupting the sacredness of his private moment.

Merlin drew his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "I'm sorry I haven't come until now. So much has happened, but you know some of that." He prattled away, telling her what had happened after her help, how they'd defeated Morgana and took back the citadel. "Arthur's changing, Freya, becoming the king I've always thought he could be. And still..." His throat grew dry. "I'm at his side, but... How do I guide him now? His father's broken, he takes on so much, and Morgana's still out there somewhere." He touched his forehead to his knees and grasped the crown of his head with both hands. "I want to think it's time for him to come into his own, that his fight is over, but it isn't. I feel it."

 _Merlin._

Merlin's head snapped up. "Freya?" He waited, but no reply came. Had he imagined her voice? "I'm afraid I'll fail," he spoke in a hushed voice. "Something's coming; something I can't stop. I need you with me. You're the only one who knows everything. The only one who ever accepted me fully." He pressed a hand into his aching chest, right over his heart. _She's not coming back. Not now or ever._

Merlin released his hold on his knees. He had to keep going without her. It was his only choice.

He stood, leaning down to pick up a small wooden raft. He approached the water and his glowing eyes melted away a thin layer of ice. He set the raft afloat and spread his hands over it. " _Blóstmá_." A sweet, tingling musk filled the air and he closed his eyes to savor it. "I love you, Freya. Always."

He withdrew his hand and smiled at the bouquet of scarlet roses. " _Astyre_." The raft drifted into the lake, leaving a trail of melted frost in its wake. As he followed its progress with his eyes, the lake disappeared and for a moment, he saw himself standing on a rise, admiring this very shore from a distance. A home built by his own hands and the use of magic rose up behind him. At his side, a dark haired woman with telling brown eyes and a rounded belly. Merlin didn't dare breathe. What could have been!

The vision faded, the raft too far away to be seen anymore. He didn't search for it with his sight, too fearful it might float on without obstacle, too hopeful it would be drawn beneath the waves by a pair of hands. It wouldn't matter what he saw. Destiny had set his path. Arthur Pendragon owned his every waking moment.

Merlin turned, lifting the hood of his cloak, hiking back towards Camelot and the reason for his existence. He didn't perceive the hidden force guiding the raft from below, nor see his gift bump the shore of the island, delivering its crimson cargo. But come spring he'd return once more and forever ponder how a single rose bush had taken root on the barren shore of an untended island.


End file.
